A Rose Garden By Any Other Name
by Pixeh Pixeh Pixeh
Summary: Draco is thinking. About life, about death, about effort. About things we can only ever touch once in our lives, and only when it's too late.


In Draco Malfoy's opinion, it wasn't a good day unless he had witnessed the death of at least three beings. Nothing large, of course, flies and spiders mostly, and occasionally he could goad Mrs Norris into eating one of the smaller Scarts from the forest. Draco cursed whatever infernal charm it was that kept the three tailed furry lizards from inside the castle walls, where they would have been easier to catch.

It wasn't that he was malicious enough to enjoy viewing the mass destruction of beings smaller than himself; he had inherited little of his fathers God-complex, no matter the mask he chose to show the school.

It was that death was such a private affair normally. Draco had so many questions surrounding it. In ones last moments, did the soul inform the mind that the body was in peril? Why was it that so many of the creatures he targeted seemed to quiver the split second before the demise they could not possibly foresee?

He brought his thumb down on an aphid. He felt nothing but the slight prickle of his skin as the little blood there was in the creatures body spread in a little circle across the pad of his finger, a cold breeze making the liquid prickle against his skin.. The rose garden was often a fine place to find subjects of his ponderings, and while the girls of the school chose to amuse themselves in romantic idea's of his occupation therein (most involving poetry writing and prolonged sighs of malcontent) at least his scowl and inclination to ignore them should they approach him meant that they seldom did.

"One."

He derived little satisfaction from the aphid. It was small and boring and he could not see it's reactions to it's destiny. However the day was hot, and that days transfiguration lesson had been particularly insufferable. He could not stand to give over his entire lunch period to the pointless pretence of homework, why bother, when any number of pretty Ravenclaws would happily do it for him?

He thought of this and scowled, breath extinguished violently enough to disturb a lock of hair that had fallen to his face in the heat. He was smart enough, years of private, expensive tutoring ensured this. He was an able student, and when he cared to admit it, academic pursuit even occasionally stirred enjoyment in him. It was just… why bother? Why cook your own dinner, when there are house elves to do that? Why conjure up clothes, when there are tailors to do that, who can conjurefiner silks and knew better sewing charmsthan anyone?

Draco spotted a good sized Arabia Beetle by the roots of a rosebush. He leant down and grasped it, holding it in his hand and examining it closely, but taking care to keep out of reach of it's waving yellow feelers. When his hand began to close he imagined the beetle froze, and whether it's little legs dug into his hand from fear, or from the large pressure he exerted upon it's back, he did not know, or care.

"Two."

"Draco! Draco love!" Draco groaned inwardly, but rose gracefully to his feet, unthinkingly slipping the leaking carcass into the pocket of his robes. Daphne was almost as insufferable as triple transfiguration, but she was pure blooded, and, as they say, blood is thicker than water. "Draco, sweetheart," She began, with a false cheeriness Draco liked to imagine caused her pain to adopt. "Do come and keep me company Draco. The common room is deserted and I'm ever so lonely. Ever so." Draco huffed and rolled his eyes at the put-on sweetness and emphasis of certain words that implied to him that Daphne's udea of company was slightlymore involvedthan light-hearted conversation or intellectual debate. He rocked on his heels as he appeared to consider a rose bush. After a minute she snorted her impatience and he sighed with a small smile.

As he took her arm he placed his other hand in his pocket, fingers brushing the beetle, and he could feel them growing sticky with it's thick, black blood. He looked at the pretty blonde beside him, winking flirtatiously and rubbing against him under thepretext of stumbling over a tussock as shebabbled ceaselessly about trivialities. He smiled as the headed into the cool shade of the hall.

"Three."


End file.
